I MEAN IT (PART 1)
by The Unsinkable
Summary: The story takes place after the phone call. Molly has had enough, and she decides to move on. Mean while Sherlock realizes his love for molly and decided to confess his feelings to her. Will they unite? It will have fair amount of angst. T for safety. English is not my native language. So please feel free to correct my grammatical errors. Criticisms are welcome. :)
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

-"Molly?" his voice came from the speaker.

She could feel the desperate plea and….fear? But it was an experiment, he had said. Yes, an important one, but what kind of experiment had made him frightened? Or probably she was reading more than what it actually meant. It might be just his anxiety for the results.

"Molly, PLEASE!" he begged again.

Out of all people, **Sherlock bloody Holmes** was begging to **Molly Hooper**! As if his life was at her mercy, as if it would dispose a bomb off! ( _Only if she knew! Irony!_ ) She brought her phone near her mouth. She hated herself for how she could not resist herself from it. She should hang up let him deal with his experiment all alone. Instead, she gathered all her strengths together and replied.

"I love you."

Her eyes squeezed shut. She felt as if all her muscles had turned to jelly. Molly leaned in and put her hands on the kitchen counter for support. She had been expecting Sherlock to explain the proper reason why he had to do it, but the connection was already dead.

 _"_ _This is what he does."_ she thought _"His business done and 'Who is Molly Hooper?' His business done and 'why be bothered for anyone but myself?' "_. Deep inside, she knew that she wasn't right. Sherlock _did_ care _,_ too much sometimes. You don't shoot a man straight on the head because he was a threat to your friends if you don't care. You do not jump off a roof because somebody threatened to kill your only friends, if you don't care. Sherlock obviously did care. But who did he care for?

Rosie. He was completely different man when he was with her. Molly had seen him with Rosie a couple of times. He had been too human, too **normal** to believe! He would talk to her for hours about how he could teach her to deduce people once she had grown enough, how clever of a child he believed (he _knew_ , as he would like to phrase it) she was. He would play Disney songs for her, whisper lullabies in her ears to make her fall asleep… He would go to any lengths to ensure the safety of his goddaughter.

He had cared for Mary as well. Molly remembered how thorough he had been about John and Mary's wedding planning. He had almost singlehandedly handled each tiny details. He had offered to help her _even after she had put a bullet through his chest_.

Mrs Hudson, Molly thought. She was more of a mother to Sherlock than his own. He had beaten a burglar into a pulp and thrown him out of the window because that piece of utter shit had dared to lay a finger on her. Mess with his landlady, and he will show you the doorway of hell!

There was Greg Lestrade too. Sherlock might never remember (or did he do it just to annoy him?) his first name, but he would be furious if somebody tried to stand in his way.

No matter how much Sherlock would deny it, he _cared a lot_ for Mycroft too. The Holmes brothers had their own queer way to show affection and love for each other.

And then there was **John**. John Hamish Watson. Molly knew it very well that Sherlock was perfectly capable of feeling emotions, but he did not allow himself to admit that fact usually. The first emotion he had allowed himself to feel and admitted it as well, was **JOHN**. Literally, he would shake hands with death for John. What had he not done for his best friend? He has jumped off Bart's rooftop (though it had been staged and Molly had been an essential part of it.), he had run into a bloody bonfire to get John out of it! One word from Mary, and he had gone off his tits in drugs. He had taken John's beating in that mortuary (Molly winced at the memory of the stitch on Sherlock's eyebrow, his bloodshot eye, and the hiss of pain he used to release while moving because of his bruised ribs.) without a single word in his defence. And she was quite sure that he would take John's beatings again and again if that would _save_ him.

So, contrary to the popular belief, the world's only consulting detective did care, far too much for those who were in his inner circle of intimacy. But that was exactly the point, Molly thought. John, Rosie, Mrs Hudson, Greg, Mycroft- that was his circle. Molly had no place in there! He had said that she counted, even during that devastating phone call he had said that she was his friend, he had said that she was the one person who mattered the most while they had been solving cases, but Molly wasn't sure anymore how much of those he had actually meant. What kind of friend puts you through such distress?

Of course she counted. Need body parts? Ask Molly. Need access to the lab at 3 o' clock in the morning? Just send Molly a text. Need a bolt hole? How about the pathologist's bedroom? - That's how she counted, in the hour of needs. She counted when his wounds had to be stitched, or he needed a helping hand to run experiments on kidney decomposition after death due to poisoning. But apart from that, she was hardly an acquaintance! In the very private circle of Sherlock's emotional intimacy, Molly was not a member.

That's why he had had the guts to make her say those words even after she had said that she couldn't. It would break her soul to the extent of dust. He had been indifferent even after those heart-twisting pleas to stop whatever he was doing, because he had **not** known how she felt. Molly was feeling just like that Christmas at Baker Street, when Sherlock had shattered her in front of everyone, when all she had wanted to do was to let him know the truth of her heart. He had apologised, but the damage had already been done.

That was the moment Molly had decided that she would **never** let him know that no matter how hard she tried, the small palace of her heart would have one and only one king, Sherlock Holmes, who didn't even bother to explain after making her go through such vivisection. ( _If only she knew that the man in accusation was going through none the less than vivisection!_ )

But when it came to Sherlock Holmes, nothing ever went according to her wish. So she had had to speak her heart out once again. But this time, she had turned the table to him also. "Go on, say it like you mean it"- He had done as told. He had said it, **twice**. This fact was unsettling Molly even more. The first one, Molly knew, was tactful; he had done it because he had to do it. The second one, though, Molly wasn't sure how to interpret. It had sounded so very real and heartfelt! As if he had really meant each syllable of it! As if he had said it because he **wanted** to! - Now that was something _next to impossible._

Sherlock would never mean it. _Not to her. Not_ ** _for_** _her._ Had it been that woman, Irene Adler, (Molly had known her name and Sherlock's _inclination_ to her from John's blog and then she had googled about her. Quite a woman, she had to admit. Clever, beautiful and wicked. Obviously Sherlock would be interested in her!) he would have meant it. But he would **NEVER** mean it for **Molly Hooper** , the pathologist with too small mouth and complete absence of sense of clothing and womanly skills.

Molly realized that she had been standing in the kitchen all along. Her head was throbbing and was clouded with thoughts. She really needed a break. She needed to feel absolutely blank for God knows how long and then only she could wrap her head around something this bizarre. She needed some rest.

But one thing she knew for sure, it was time to _really move on._ She could not unsay what she had said. She could not pretend that it had never happened. She definitely could not look into Sherlock's eyes knowing that she had spoken the absolute truth of her soul and it still didn't matter to him.

She _had to_ move on. More precisely, **move away** , from this life, from **Sherlock** , from London.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi friends! I am back with the next chapter. Loads and loads of thanks to all of you who have read my work and let me know your opinions. This chapter is Sherlock centric. He is finally coming in terms with his feelings. Hope you like this chapter as well!

 **CHAPTER 2**

Sherlock was leaning his back against the helicopter seat, looking at the sky. He had not said a word after Eurus was sent back to Sherrinford, secure this time, as Mycroft would like to state it.

The whole dealings of the incidents had shaken Sherlock to the core. He no longer knew how to feel or what to feel. All he could process was a rush of all consuming guilt, sorrow and loss. Victor- he could not stop thinking about him. He was carrying the remains of his bones with him. The least he could do for him was to give him a proper funeral. Why was he dead? Sherlock asked himself. " _Because of me. I was so engrossed with my own happiness that I didn't think about my sister, that she also needed someone to play with. She needed ME to play with._ _ **She needed me.**_ _"_

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled a long, tired breath. All his sister had wanted was his love and affection and she had been so desperate for it that she had chosen such a crooked way! What was he going to do now? Leaving her alone was out of the question. She had been alone throughout her whole life up to this point and she was not going back to that monstrous loneliness. _**Not in his watch**_. He would be with her _. No matter what, he was not going to leave his sister anymore._

"You should really stop thinking now, you know. You've been through a lot." His eyes snapped open at Mycroft's words. Mycroft had fallen asleep the moment they had taken their seats in the helicopter. The ice man was finally melting. All it had taken was six hours of confinement in their sister's old cell, with a dead body lying on the floor and the wall smeared with blood and insides of human brain.

Sherlock looked at his brother. Fatigue and shock were written all over his face. He wondered for the first time how it would be like to be Mycroft all the time. It must be hell of a job to be at the service of the government and your own stupid little brother, who thought himself above all " _silly sentiments"_ but actually was an emotional wreck underneath! Had Sherlock ever thanked his brother for being there?

"How are you feeling? You were quite shaken when we got you out." He said to his elder brother.

"I am fine." Mycroft smiled a little.

"You are not a good liar Mycroft." Sherlock countered him a bit sternly "Just say how the hell you are actually feeling for once."

Mycroft sighed. "I am not sure, Sherlock.", he looked at his younger brother, "But I will be okay."

"Yes you will."

Sherlock closed his eyes again. His head was throbbing in pain, but he had more pressing matters in his hands than to fancy some rest so that it would go away. He had a lot to process.

"He is right, you know." John's voice made Sherlock look at his best friend. "You really need to stop thinking and have some rest.", John said, concern clearly evident in his voice.

Sherlock sighed. "Are you okay now?" , he asked. John had been through hell throughout the whole ordeal. Sherlock took a mental note to make sure the doctor didn't go through PTSD again. That was the least he could do for the soldier, who had kept him sane while he had been being sliced into pieces by his lost, _so lost_ sister.

"No I am not okay yet.", John replied truthfully, "But I will be once I get to see Rosie.", he smiled.

"Yes you will." , Sherlock also smiled at the thought of his goddaughter.

"And you will also be okay Sherlock." , John said reassuringly.

Now that was something Sherlock was no longer sure about. He sighed and closed his eyes again. Probably Mycroft and John were right. He should stop thinking for the time being. He would be able to think more clearly without the sickening headache.

Sherlock tried to resign his mind from all thoughts. But, he couldn't. One very particular feeling didn't let him not think about anything at all. He had never imagined that of all people, he, Sherlock Holmes, the self-proclaimed _high functioning sociopath_ would experience this ever. Even then, he thought, it had not meant to be this way! This wasn't hoe he had wanted to have this realization, even if he had never wanted to have this feeling at all.

He could not erase out the coffin from his head. The thought that it could have been Molly's coffin made him flinch internally. Molly Hooper, his pathologist, the one who could see through his bullshits anytime. The image of her pain stricken face just after the phone call had ended was still as clear as day in his mind. She had pleaded repeatedly to stop, leave her alone- and what had Sherlock done? He had broken her, crushed her _once again._ He really had no idea why she loved **him** out of all people, when all he had given her was pain, sorrow and stress!

He was feeling a fresh new wave of guilt again for what Molly had had to go thorough because of him, _because she loved him_. But he felt something even more than guilt. _GRATITUDE._ Sherlock was _really grateful_ that his dearest and kind pathologist _still loved him_. Because this time, he knew for sure, it was **not** like that horrible Christmas. This time it was all different, because this time, **the love wasn't one sided anymore**.

Sherlock had not anticipated that Molly would make him say it first. When she had, he had felt like he had been punched in the guts. Emotions had never been his _area_ , as he had liked to make himself believe. So when the table had been turned to him, he had felt clueless. Only thirty seconds had been left, so he had had no other alternative way to make it work. He had had to say it. As he had started to say those words, realizations had been hitting him _hard_. With the passing of every precious second, he had started to realize why those pair of brown doe eyes had distracted him every now and then, why, how Molly does her hair, had been something he had never missed to notice and wanted to delete, why, out of all people, _he had chosen Molly Hooper_ when he had had to fake his own death, why the knowledge of Molly being engaged ( _taken away,_ according to him) had caused him _a solid three_ _days of sleepless nights and twinge of unknown pain in his chest._ He had understood very well what exactly he had wanted to mean by " _the one person who mattered the most"_.

He had been so busy in making deductions about what all those realizations had been meaning that he barely managed to say it coherently for the first time. "I…. I... love you." And just after had had said it, he had known that it was nothing but the absolute truth of his soul. Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, **loved Molly Hooper**. The second time he had said it, _he had meant each syllable of it from the core of his heart._ He had said it because _he had wanted to_ speak his heart out to Molly, and so he had said it.

"I love you."

Sherlock opened his eyes again and looked out. " _Do something while you still have a chance."_ – He remembered John's words from not-so-long-ago. _He was indeed going to do something this time._ _He would make a move._ Hiding and denying his feelings had done very little good to him so far. So this time _he would open up._ He would let Molly know that **he wanted to walk together with her from now on**. _They would walk together_. No matter how difficult it was for him to be a _family person_ , **he would try his best** , and _with the help of Molly,_ **he would succeed in it**.

A.N.: So, the second chapter is done! Sherlock has finally understood how much his pathologist means to him. Will he succeed to make Molly know how he feels? Will she _believe_ him? Let us see what happens in the next chapter.

Please do feel free to rectify my flaws. Let me know if you liked this chapter. Have fun! J


	3. Chapter 3

**See, I am back again! I have been regular at adding new chapters:) So this is again about Molly. She is pretty pissed off. Well, that is fair, because what she has gone through was really really awful.**

 **Once again , tons of thanks and love for reading my work, for commenting and for appreciating me. Wish you like this chapter as well!**

 **CHAPTER 3**

 **[THE DAY AFTER SHERINFORD INCIDENT]**

Molly had an early shift. Still she had woken up late because of almost sleepless previous night. As she looked at the clock, she cursed herself for having no time to grab a breakfast. She quickly finished her shower and got ready. When she was about to pick her hand bag and leave for Bart's, there was a knock on the door.

 _'_ _Who the hell is here to mess up this time?'_ She thought, irritated more because she was definitely going to be late for her work.

Molly opened the door and was in her way to ask whoever it was to make it quick, but she stopped and was baffled.

On the doorway was standing Greg Lestrade, the detective inspector, with Anderson and some other Yarders behind him.

"Molly." , Greg greeted her with a nervous smile. "May I come in?"

Molly still didn't have a clue about what was going on. She wanted to ask so many questions but couldn't decide exactly what she wanted to ask. So, she let them in silently.

Once the door was closed again, the detective inspector ordered Anderson and others for a thorough search in all the rooms.

Molly found her voice once again and asked the inspector, "Greg, what's going on? Why are you here and exactly what are you looking for in _my flat_?"

"Well….." Greg hesitated for a moment and then replied, "I have been informed that your flat is bugged. It has hidden cameras in here. Most obviously, in the kitchen."

"Cameras?", Molly really had no idea what on earth was going on. Why would there be _cameras in her flat?_ Who would've planted them? Who had informed Scotland Yard about that? Besides, she was getting late for work and she was in no mood to take extra hours to balance it. Molly took a deep breath and asked, "Greg, can you please tell me what is going on? I am already late for my shift."

As the detective inspector was about to answer, Anderson came back and informed that nine cameras had been found. Four from the kitchen, three from the living room, and two from the bedroom.

"But no explosives sir." He said confidently.

" _Explosives?"_ , Molly almost screamed. Lestrade glared daggers at Anderson. That daft stupid never knew when to shut up! He turned to Molly and smiled reassuringly. "Relax, Molly. You are perfectly safe now."

"Why are there _cameras_ in my flat? And why do you even think that there would be **_explosives_**?"

"Sorry Molly." , Greg said apologetically, "I am afraid that I'm not at the liberty to tell you all. Even I myself don't know all of it. All I can tell you is that it was some kind of bizarre experiment.

 _'_ _Experiment'-_ the word hit her head and suddenly, she started to get idea a little bit. Greg and his team were already leaving with the discovered cameras.

"Greg?" , Molly called out and the inspector turned around from the door.

"Yes Molly?"

"Is this about _Sherlock_?" , She asked flatly.

"Yes." , He left.

 _'_ _It is always about him.'_ Molly thought bitterly. Did she want to know about it? A pert of her didn't. She was really tired of Sherlock and his craps. She wanted some peace of mind. Whatever the matter was would be taken care of, she knew. Greg had told that she was safe. There was no reason to doubt that. She should let it go, but she couldn't.

Who would take the trouble to plant _explosives_ in her flat? Was it Sherlock? Had he lost all of his sanity that he would put cameras and _explosives_? ' _Although he didn't go with_ that _apparently.'_ Molly sighed. And all of all, it _had_ been an experiment. A bloody experiment. How long had those cameras been planted? How long had _Sherlock been watching her?_ She felt like she was standing in air. She went to the settee and sat, her head in her hands.

So, if Sherlock could watch her, _he had watched her during that phone call_. He had watched how pained and broken and vulnerable she had felt. _"Still he did it!"_ , Molly spat out, venom in her voice. She felt so _exposed_ and _humiliated._ She felt like she was some kind of lab rat, experiencing science! ( _Only if she knew who had actually been the lab rat!_ )

No, she no longer cares _why_ he had done it. She just wanted to meet him for _one last time_ , she wanted to tell him what she had decided and then _she would close this chapter of her life_ _ **forever**_ _._ She dialed his number for the _last time._

 **Oh hell, what is she going to do? How would Sherlock take it? Can't wait to add the next chapter! will update very soon :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Back with a new chapter! I can't thank you all enough for appreciating me so much! This is my first attempt and I am really flattered that you are supporting me this much. Hope you like this chapter also. And please feel free to correct my flaws.**

 **CHAPTER 4**

Sherlock had not slept the whole night. He couldn't. The first thing he had done after returning London was to check on Mrs Hudson. He was relieved that his dear landlady was safe and sound and living in her sister's. Mycroft had made sure to finish the renovation of 221B as fast as possible. Till then, Sherlock would have to stay in John's flat.

The next thing Sherlock had done was to convince Mycroft about letting their parents know about Eurus. This had not been an easy task. But then, Sherlock Holmes had never liked anything easy!

"They will be devastated after knowing what their daughter has become!" , Mycroft had said impatiently.

"She is their daughter. They must know." – had been Sherlock's calm and collected reply.

"I can't do this." , Mycroft had admitted finally.

" _You_ don't have to. _You_ won't do this."

To Mycroft's questioning look, Sherlock had replied, " _WE_ will do this Mycroft, she is the sister of _both of us_. Both of us will do it."

Mycroft had seen something in his brother's resolve, and probably for the _first time,_ he had decided to _**follow his younger brother's lead**_. After being assured by Mycroft that their parents would be called and told to come in London as soon as possible, Sherlock had concentrated into the matter of his heart.

He had known that Molly, his pathologist ( _Since when had he been thinking of her as_ _ **his**_ ** _pathologist_** _? Oh, he really missed something always.)_ , would be shaken after what she had gone through. He had decided to tell her all of it in person. He would meet her and explained everything that had happened, and definitely, he would make it clear as day that _he had meant what he had said to her._ He had been so stupid all along that he had not realised the truth staring at his face, until he had been forced to confess it even when he had had no idea that he actually had been confessing, what he should have done long ago. He would make it clear that he, Sherlock Holmes, the _absolute fool_ , was hopelessly in love with Molly Hooper, and _he was not going to let her go till death did them part_.

He would not be the ideal partner, he would make so many mistakes, but he was _not going to back off_. Molly loved him. She had always loved him even after having the complete knowledge that he had been oblivious of the fact. Not oblivious actually, he had never felt the necessity to put his thoughts on the matter. She had loved him even after he had shattered her countless times with harsh words, manipulated her by giving her false hopes to serve his own purpose. She had loved him no matter if he had been at his best or worst. His Molly, his _oh-so-very-kind_ Molly had loved him with complete devotion even after knowing the almost hundred per cent possibility of getting nothing in return. She had _never given up on him and she never would_. Obviously not when **_he had decided not to let her go_**.

"No sleep then?" , Sherlock came out of his thoughts at John's voice. John was putting two mugs of tea on the coffee table.

"Where is Rosie?", Sherlock asked.

"Err, with friends. I'll pick her up today…"

John took a seat on the sofa, beside his best friend. He wanted to ask about how Sherlock was feeling, but opening up was not exactly his best friend's _area_ , so instead, he asked , " What next?"

"Bart's."

"Sorry what?" , John had not expected that answer.

"I'm going to Bart's. I need to see Molly."

This time, things made sense to John. He had been there when Sherlock had smashed that coffin with his bare hands, he had seen his friend saying those words to Molly. Ha had known all of it right then, but the turns of events had not allowed him to think about it clearly. They had been too busy with surroundings to think about anything.

Now, as the two friends, _best friends¸_ finally got to sit together to have their morning cuppa, John looked at his best friend, really looked. Sherlock's palms were steepled together under his chin, his face impassive, but his eyes were speaking volumes. John saw all the raw feelings in those ocean blue eyes. Sherlock was a complete moron when it came to the matter of heart, John knew that very well. Whenever there was rush of emotions flooding inside him, he would be totally lost, because he didn't know what to do with them. The best way he knew to deal with emotions was to shut it out completely. That had made things worse so far, because he had drowned more, the more he had tried to resign himself from those.

The same thing was happening now, John thought. Sherlock was so lost in the newly discovered part of his heart that he did not know exactly what he was supposed to do. John knew for sure, that his best friend was drowning in love for Molly Hooper, but he was not sure how Sherlock would take that. He knew direct approach on talking about such things would never work with Sherlock Holmes, so he chose the other way.

"So, Molly. She is safe now, right?" , he simply asked.

"Yes she is. Lestrade texted me."

"No explosives?"

"No explosives, just cameras."

"Well then." , John decided to push him a little bit, "You can have some rest. She is safe and Greg has definitely explained things to her, hasn't he?"

"NO" , Sherlock sharply replied, looking pointedly at the doctor.

"Sorry?" , John narrowed his eyes.

"He has _not_ told her anything. I told him not to spill out."

 _"_ _That's exactly what I was worrying about."_ , John thought. Sherlock was going to shut it out as usual. He couldn't allow that anymore. Molly was a very good friend of him, and he had known about her feelings for Sherlock all along. Now that there was a chance that her feelings could be really honoured and reciprocated as well, he would not let Sherlock mess it up. At least, he would try his best to put some sense through the thick skull of his stupid best friend!

"This is not fair, Sherlock!", he started. His voice a bit more high pitched than he had actually intended.

Sherlock silently looked up at him in confusion.

John took a deep breath and started again, like he was talking to a child.

"look, she has been through hell, and probably he still isn't over it. And now she has been informed that her flat was bugged with hidden cameras. Don't you think she deserves a bit of explanation after all she has done for you over these years? Not telling her anything is _not the option_ Sherlock! You **must** let her know why she was forced to do what she did."

"That's exactly why I need to see her" , Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

John was clearly taken aback by this response.

"YOU are going to tell her? In person?"

"Yes." , Sherlock looked down and swallowed. "It is what people do, don't they? Telling this sort of thing in person? Isn't that the custom?"

John observed the detective very closely. Sherlock was looking away, visibly uncomfortable. John noticed the light pink blush appearing on those pale alabaster cheeks, and he understood what Sherlock was talking about. He was not only talking about explaining the Sherrinford disaster to Molly, but also confessing his love for her!

John let out a sigh of relief. Although he was still very much surprised that Sherlock had figured out this much all by himself! A broad grin appeared on his mouth. He felt like all his fatigue was gone. He cleared his throat and asked Sherlock, "How long?"

"Pardon?" , Sherlock looked at him , confused.

"How long since you've been….you know….." , John trailed off.

Sherlock chuckled, "I just realised it yesterday! When I thought I was going to lose her.", his face hardened while saying the last part.

John was going to ask something more when Sherlock's phone started to buzz. It was Molly.

Sherlock could hear the loud thumps of his pounding heart. His throat went dry. He had been so confident when he had decided to talk to Molly and confess his love for her. But now, that he _actually had to talk to her_ , he felt like that was the toughest task to do. He swallowed hard before picking it up.

" _Are you busy today?"_ , Molly's voice came through the speaker.

That felt odd. No greetings?! She had just straight gone to business! And there was something wrong about the way she was speaking.

"No….." , Sherlock answered, "Um….. Molly?"

" _Yes?_ ", the reply came in the same not-Molly-like manner Sherlock was really getting tensed.

"I would…. Um… " , He was not sure what to say.

Molly cut him off, " _I want to meet you at Bart's lab. Can you come?_ ", she asked flatly.

Sherlock's cheeks became warm. He swallowed again and answered, "Yes! Why not? Yes!"

" _Well see you in two hours._ ", Molly said and hung up.

Sherlock was taken aback. What was the matter? Molly had never talked to him like that. There had been a comforting warmth in her voice always. Was it missing because of stress? Sherlock didn't understand. But he would figure it out once they met, he thought.

He got up from the sofa and looked at John, who was staring at him with a questioning look.

"She wants to meet.", Sherlock smiled shyly.

John grinned as his best friend moved towards his room to get ready.

"Sherlock?", he called out.

"Hmm", the detective turned around.

"Good luck!", John winked.

"Thanks", Sherlock's cheeks were _beet red_.

 **Our favourite detective is very excited about meeting the woman he loves! But Molly is pretty mad at him. What will happen next? Stay tuned. Next chapter will be updated very soon :) Have fun!**


	5. Chapter 5

**So here is one more new chapter. They meet finally. Really, there is nothing more I can summarize of this chapter. You have to go through it to know. I had a very hard time writing this one. I even dreamt of Sherlock the night before I started to write it. Hope you like it. And lots of love to all of you for being there. :)**

 **CHAPTER 5**

The first thing Molly did after reaching Bart's was to talk to the head of pathology unit. Molly was a very talented pathologist and her papers had got praises from the critics. She had been getting excellent research offers for a few years. She really had no reasons to decline those, _except one_. Now that she _really_ had _no reasons_ to not think about her career hike, she wanted to settle down in Michigan. The offer had come three days ago. She would be working there as a research investigator in the department of experimental pathology in University of Michigan, along with being a regular faculty. Molly sent them a mail informing that she would like to join as soon as possible. Although she knew that she wouldn't be able to move in Michigan before at least a month. _"What is a month compared to nine eight long years?"_ , she thought. She could bear it one more month. Then, it will be the end of an era, _one she never wanted to put an end to._

After finishing up the primary official talks, Molly settled herself in the lab. She didn't have any autopsy that day, just piles of boring paper works. She busied herself in her work, but, she couldn't concentrate. She kept looking at her watch time to time.

 _"_ _Fifteen more minutes."_ , Molly thought, looking at her watch. Suddenly her heart beat sped up. She loved Sherlock. She could not deny it. Probably _she would never stop loving him._ Still she was done with him. She had to go far away because she couldn't let him break her anymore. She needed a fresh start, and _leaving Sherlock was the first step_. She _had_ to do it.

Molly was lost in her thoughts, when she heard the lab doors opening. She turned around getting up from her chair, and froze on the spot.

Sherlock Holmes, _the love of her life_ , was standing, staring at her intently.

Sherlock had prepared a lot about to stay calm and say exactly what he wanted to tell Molly, but the moment he saw her and she looked back at him, he lost all words into those brown eyes. He could not move, could not speak, and could not breathe. He kept staring at those pair of beautiful doe eyes, holding his breath unconsciously. A few moments later, he found himself back once again and moved towards _his Molly_. He strode in front of her, never breaking the eye contact.

Molly was also silently staring at him. Sherlock felt odd. _She wasn't smiling._ Her features were not radiating that warmth of peace and comfort like they used to. Her jaws were clenched, death glare in her eyes.

Sherlock felt _fear_ creeping in his mind. He _knew_ that glare. He knew that icy look _very well_. _He had seen it before_.

He had seen it in _John's eye_ when he had pushed him away, blaming him for Mary's death. He had seen it in John's eyes in that mortuary.

He was seeing _that ice cold rejection_ in Molly's eyes.

 _NO._

 _This couldn't happen._

 _She couldn't give up._

 ** _NO_** _…_ _. She could never give up…_

Sherlock felt icy chill of panic running through his spine. He couldn't take it. _His Molly_ _ **rejecting**_ _him…_ No…

 _Do something while you still have a chance….._ Yes. He _needed_ to do something. He definitely needed to speak!

"Molly I… "

"Is it going to happen again?" , Molly cut him off with venomous voice.

Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment and then narrowed in confusion and disbelief that Molly could sound _this bitter_!

"I… I don't… understand… " , Sherlock swallowed.

 _NO NO NO…_ This wasn't happening. This could not….. He couldn't take it. Sherlock felt as if he had to put all his strengths together to keep standing. _His Molly,_ his dearest Molly _was refusing to listen to him!_

It wasn't supposed to go like that.

 _He would tell her all the truth and she would smile that very precious Molly smile and then he would wrap his arms around her burying his face in his hair and never let her go….._ That was how it was supposed to be!

Why wasn't it happening? Molly could always see through him. Then why couldn't she see that he was internally _screaming, begging her to smile just once?_

Well, she did smile. A dry, _repelling_ , bitter smile. Sherlock's heart clenched in agony.

"You don't _understand_? " , that same venomous rejection in Molly's voice. "Your **_experiment_** , Sherlock!" , she spat out , "Is it going to happen again?" , she looked pointedly at him.

Sherlock felt a fresh wave of fear once again. The image of the coffin haunted him. No. He _had_ to fix that. He must make things correct. He must make Molly understand. _Molly must understand!_

He held her firmly by her shoulders, looked deeply into her eyes and shook his head, "No Molly. It will **NEVER** happen again."

"Good" , Molly nodded, then released herself from his hold.

Why wasn't the tension between them going away? Sherlock ran his hand through his hair impatiently…. _Do something while you still have a chance….._ Yes, John. John Watson always kept him right. He _had_ to do something while he still had his chance. Determined, Sherlock started again.

"Molly I need to…. "

" **I am done with you, Sherlock!** "

Sherlock stopped dead in his track. His whole world spinning, fear and a nasty feeling of _loss_ taking him in….. _The chance is gone before you know it…._ John had said that also. Why did he _always_ miss something?

 _The chance is gone before you know it….._ John's words kept echoing in his head.

It took all of her strengths to say those words to him. But she couldn't back off. The moment Sherlock had entered the lab, his presence had reminded Molly of his _experiment_. Her heart had filled with disgust and anger.

And then, Sherlock has started to rant about what he needed.

"Molly I need to… "

She couldn't stand it any longer. She _had_ to stop him.

" **I am done with you, Sherlock!** " , she spat out finally, squeezing her eyes shut. "I am done with your needs, your demands and I am done with being a tool of your experiment."

She looked at the detective with an icy glare, but what she saw, shocked her.

Sherlock was standing as still as dead in front of her, his face white as a sheet, lips slightly parted. He didn't utter a single word but his eyes were _screaming_. Molly had _never_ seen such an expression on his face. She had seen him arrogant, confident, smiling, embarrassed, sick and even _sad_ … but not like that.

 _Never like that._

She could see all consuming pain in those glossy oceanic eyes. As if the last straw of his life had been snatched off him. As if he had got the news of _John's death_. As if he was physically being stabbed in the abdomen!

She couldn't speak for some moments. Did her words have _that much_ effect on him? Was that at all possible?

No, she was reading more than what was actually happening. If she became weak, she would have to regret that later and she knew that very well. She wanted to know exactly what has shaken him _that much_ , but she wouldn't. She had to stay strong for the sake of her already crushed fragile heart. She _must_ stay strong to save herself from Sherlock.

Molly saw Sherlock's face contorting, his eyes closed like he was in agonizing pain. A moment later he opened them, and his face was impassive again like nothing had happened at all. Before she could say something more, he spoke.

"Done with me. Aren't you?" , his voice _tired_.

"Yes." , that was all she could manage to say.

"Of course." , Sherlock nodded agreeing with her, "Of course. I must go then, I suppose."

He hastily turned around to leave.

No, Molly had many more things to say to him. She quickly fired, "I am not finished yet!"

Sherlock turned around again, wondering what else she had to say, what else _he would have to endure_.

"Yes?" , he shot a questioning look to Molly.

"I am _leaving_ Sherlock." , Molly said, emphasizing on the word "leaving".

He didn't understand. "Is your shift over?"

Molly closed her eyes in exasperation and inhaled. She looked at him again and spoke, "I am leaving London."

His chance was really _gone_ , Sherlock thought. Why had he expected that Molly would accept him with open arms after what he had been doing to her? What had he really done to deserve her love? The phone call had been the last strike on her, and the bridge between them was broken _forever_. Of course she would be leaving. Why had he expected her to be stupid enough to _love him forever?_ Sherlock smiled sadly. He tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow.

" _Terrified of me_ , aren't you, Miss Hooper?"

Molly locked away. He sighed.

"Where are you moving in?" , Sherlock enquired.

"I really don't want you to know."

Sherlock flinched at her words. He felt as if he was being kicked mercilessly. He swallowed and nodded, "Of course. Why not?"

"I'm here for another month." , Molly looked at him pointedly, her jaws tight, " And I really want you nit to come here till then, until it is extremely necessary for a case. Do you get it? Or I'll restrain your access to the lab and the morgue."

Sherlock closed his eyes and sucked in air. If his heart could really be burnt, he would have happily chosen _that_ over enduring this much of refusals from Molly. Still, he nodded.

"Yes, sure. I won't come unless necessary."

Molly nodded stiffly in approval.

"Can I… err… go now?" , he asked hesitantly.

"Yes." , Molly turned around and moved towards her chair.

When Sherlock reached in front of the door, he turned back to Molly. He just wanted to ask _one last thing_.

"Um.. Molly?" , he called out, not sure if she would respond to that.

"Yes?" , she didn't look back, just replied, stopping her moves.

"Will you come to say good bye?" , he didn't even try to hide the desperate _plea_ in his voice. He hoped that at least _this plea_ wouldn't be dismissed.

Molly's shoulders stiffened. Her answer broke whatever was left of Sherlock.

"I don't think I should."

Sherlock lowered his head, letting out a heavy, shaky sigh. His voice broke.

"Of course. Why should you?" , with those last words, he left.

 _His chance was really gone, and there was nothing he could do about that._

 _"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." ,_ he had said once. He **hated** himself for even believing in that idea in the first place.

 **I cried for solid ten minutes after finishing this chapter. Still feeling "a bit not good". So just stay tuned, okay? Next chapter will be updated soon.**


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